


Real Monsters

by keeptogethernow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brother Feels, Demons, Gen, Grumpy Old Men, Half-demons, Harm to Children, I promise, I swear it's good stuff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Loss of Parent(s), Monsters, Native American Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Siblings, Scary Children, Slavery, good stuff!, it is the winchesters after all, it's fun, no really, superstitious villagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8482102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeptogethernow/pseuds/keeptogethernow
Summary: Dean Winchester has been hunting monsters for most of his life. But recent encounters and the knowledge of what Sam is and can do have shattered his world. As other hunters continue to draw lines, Dean needs to decide what a monster is, and what he'll do with them.





	1. Roadtripping Woes

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in some indeterminate time during Season 2 or 3. Probably 2. Anyway, John's dead, Gordon's still alive (and insane), the angels haven't really made an appearance yet, and Dean hasn't died. Or something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went through and edited/changed some shit, because I really hated the way I wrote this the first go around. Sorry for any confusion this causes!

“It goes on _forever.”_ Dean has been waxing poetic regarding the state of Montana since they had entered it… _two days ago._ “I mean, it’s like a whole country. We are driving _through_ an entire country. And it’s populated almost entirely by _trees._ ”

Sam grunts in response and wonders if there’s any way to distract Dean from this subject. _Probably not,_ he decides, listening to the continuing rant. _Nothing has so far._

“Montana is _bigger_ than Japan, Sam. _Japan._ It’s literally bigger than one of the world’s busiest countries.”

“You said the same thing about Wyoming, Dean.” Sam immediately regrets engaging in his older brother’s bitching, but now he’s pretty much trapped in this conversation. “Only you also said that it was ‘hands down the most boring drive ever’. Oh, then we almost hit that deer, and you amended it to a ‘possibly sentient and vindictive godforsaken place’ as well.”

“I stand by that.” Dean shrugs, keeping an eye on the road. “I think I’ve been on enough roadtrips to be an authority on this shit. I’m just saying that Montana is ridiculous. It’s oversized and underpopulated and just… _unnecessary.”_

“Well, I’m sure people who live here would argue with that.”

Dean rolls his eyes and snorts. “Sure. Of course _you’d_ defend it. You’re like basically the Montana of hunters.”

Sam’s still trying to come up with a good comeback when Dean continues.

“See, this is why other countries hate us.” He gestures to the view as they pass. “America literally found a way to super-size _land._ How is that even possible?”

“Dean, you don’t have _any_ complaints about a super-sized Big Mac.”

“That’s different. I have my priorities. A Big Mac is _food,_ therefore it has a _use. Montana doesn’t.”_

“Yellowstone National Park,” Sam offers. “Um…oil…oh, and all the beef we get from the ranches here that make your Big Macs…”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, well, Wyoming has that stuff too. So again, point proven.”

“How close are we,” Sam asks, trying to change the subject. He’s not sure he can put up with another _minute_ of Dean’s hate-filled rant about Montana, let alone possibly _hours_ or _days._

“Dunno. _You’re_ the navigator.”

Sam digs up the map and pad of paper he’d written down the coordinates on earlier that week. They’re tracking down a lead about some sort of animal that was terrorizing a ranch town called Agency. The locals there were calling it the “Shunka Warak’in”, which apparently means “carries off dogs”. Unfortunately, according to the papers, whatever it was had graduated from dogs to people. Thus far, three kids were missing, along with about five reported hunters.

“You need to take the next exit.”

Less than a minute after Sam announces this, Dean jerks the car into the exit and takes the curve at a breakneck speed, slamming his brother’s head into the window as he does. He ignores the glare from the passenger seat and keeps speeding the car along until they enter the town. Or, rather, he _assumes_ they’ve entered the town—there’s a shady-looking motel on one side of the street, a small trailer park next to it, and a large bar across the street, as well as several boarded up old buildings.

Dean puffs out his cheeks and lets out a long, slow breath. “Wow. You sure this place isn’t actually named Podunk? Okay, here’s the plan: I’ll try to pry some information out of the regulars in there,” he nods at the bar. “You get us checked in and see if there’s any place in this God-forsaken town that has wifi.”

After a few moments of petty squabbling, Sam agrees to the plan and starts towards the motel office, kicking the gravel irritably. He opens the door and is immediately blasted with a rush of cool air, flooding out into the still, dry afternoon as Sam slips inside quickly. The office is a dingy, sad-looking affair, with a sitting area to one side and a desk taking up the rest of the room. There’s an old man settled in a worn armchair, snoring loudly in time to the static on the ancient television set.

Sam grimaces at the atmosphere—it’s more run-down than most places—and focuses on the desk. There’s a man there, having some sort of heated conversation with the lady behind the counter. He has a little kid with him, a boy of about eight or so (he’s never been that good at gauging ages, that’s Dean’s thing) fidgeting with the strap of a bag and awkwardly avoiding eye contact with the angry woman. He looks over when Sam enters, apparently the only one to notice. Sam gives him a quick smile, then walks up behind the man and clears his throat. The irate man turns and gives him a nasty look, while the woman seems relieved.

“What do _you_ want,” the man snarls, posturing. He’s a large guy, rough looking and squinty eyes. “Can’t you see we’re busy here?”

“No problem,” Sam shrugs. “I’m just waiting to check in here.”

The guy scoffs, but turns back to the desk. “Look, woman, just give me the goddamn keys! I ain’t paying for a bigger space.”

Looking like she’s barely restraining herself from attacking the belligerent guest, the woman slides to cards across the counter, gritting out “Have a pleasant stay.” The man doesn’t even nod, just grabs one of the bags, shoving the other at the kid, muttering “Move it.” The two exit quickly, and most of the tension in the room leaves with them.

“Can I help you,” the lady says, a much friendlier expression on her face. “I really appreciate you stepping in like that, by the way. I probably would’ve had to take the shotgun out to get him calmed down otherwise.”

Sam laughs incredulously, stepping up to the desk. “You’ve got a shotgun back there? And, um…I need a room please.”

“For how long?”

“Couple of days?” He tries to estimate how long this hunt will take. “Well, more like a week, really.”

She smiles. “Sure thing, hon. You here for a reason? People generally just pass through Agency, not that I’d mind the business, of course.”

“Oh, m’ brother and I are hoping to get in some hunting,” Sam says, pulling out the card to pay. “We heard great things about the elk out here.”

“Well, you picked a great area for it. People have bagged some record-breaking bulls around here. You guys should be careful though—there’s been some nasty animal attacks lately.” Pamela hands back the card and pulls out two keys. She looks genuinely concerned, and Sam can’t help feeling a bit guilty when he presses for more information.

“ _Really?_ What happened?”

She sighs. “Well, at first the ranchers were having some trouble—something kept coming around, harassing their stock. A few of the dogs disappeared, some hunters have been reported missing, though that may be more to do with weather than anything. But about a week ago, a kid, Lilly HerManyHorses went missing. Poor thing walked home from school and never made it. A little while later, little Bobby Fisher just… _disappeared,_ right out of his front yard. Then, day before last, three boys decided to go out hunting even though they knew better, and no one’s seen ‘em since. One of them was my nephew.”

“Oh, wow. That’s terrible.” He means it too.

“I know! And the thing is, there’s no way they just got lost or anything—all three of them grew up here, they know these woods. And they had guns, they know how to use them too. Sheriff thinks we’ve got a wolf problem, but wolves don’t snatch babies from their yards or go after healthy, well-armed teenagers.”

Sam _really_ feels a little guilty now. “That’s awful. So, um, if it’s not wolves, what is it?”

Before the woman can answer, a croaky old voice from behind interjects.

“Lilly-ass white boy don’t wanna admit that he’s up against Shunka Warak’in. None of them daiboo gonna give a shit unless they gonna lose money. Soon as the paadiha start dying, then they’ll listen.”

Sam turns to see the old man, now awake, has shifted in his seat so that he can glare daggers at them.

Pamela sighs. “No one believes in those stories, Dogu. And please, _stop_ insulting the sheriff that way. You do realize that he’s on our side, right?”

“Haganivina,” the old man shrugs. “Nobody _ever_ wants to hear the truth.” He squints at Sam. “Why you askin’ bout this stuff? You huntin’ monsters too?”

Grinning, Sam shakes his head. “Not sure what you mean by that, sir. I’m just tryin’ to make sure I know what to expect out there.”

“Eh, kaihinadogwaindingande,” The old man scoffs and turns back to the T.V. “Sure. Heh!” His words turn into incoherent mumbles as Sam turns back to the counter.

“Sorry about him.” Pamela says sheepishly. “My grandfather is a _little…_ touched.”

“I don’t mind.” Sam says cheerfully. “So, what’s a ‘Shunka wara-whatever’?”

“A stupid legend. It’s supposedly this wolf-monster thing that eats livestock and stuff.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Honestly, I’m pretty sure it’s just a coyote that someone saw when they were drunk.”

Sam can tell she’s done talking. “Oh. Well, thanks for the warning, I’ll be sure to tell my brother we need to be careful. Um, you have a good night, okay, Pamela?”

“You too. And if you need anything, just let me know.” She smiles after him as he exits.

After making sure the room is properly warded and secure, Sam heads back to the car to get their bags. He can see Dean already striding back towards the motel, so he leans against the vehicle and waits.  

“Did you find anything?” Dean asks as soon as he’s in hearing range. “Because I got shit.”

“Yup.” Sam pushes off the hood of the Impala. “Not much, but I got an old guy who’s convinced that it _is_ the Shunka Warak’in. So that’s a good sign, I guess. Anyway, we still need to find out how to kill the thing, and I doubt he’d be willing to just tell us. Figured I’d wait to see what you had before I dug out the laptop…assuming the wifi here actually works.”

Dean shakes his head and darkly mutters “Montana,” like it’s the reason for all their troubles. He grabs a bag and goes inside, looking around at the motel room with an impressed expression.

“The room is nice.” He sounds genuinely surprised. “Like, beyond ‘crappy, but decent motel’ nice.”

“The office sucks, but everything else is really nice. The lady who runs the place seems to be pretty proud of it. Her granddad’s the one who was talkin’ about this thing.”

“Cool. Gotta love the crazy old dudes.” Dean grins, flopping onto the bed. “Oh, and the food there? It’s _not_ worth the price. Man, I swear that is the _worst_ bar I have _ever_ been to. Doesn’t even have a decent beer selection.”

“Bummer.”

“You could try sounding sympathetic. After all, we gotta eat somewhere.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Surprisingly, that’s not my biggest priority. Besides, there’s always the canned crap we packed.”

Dean groans in mock disgust and flings an arm over his eyes. “Goody. Wake me up when you’re done doing the nerd work. Imma try and get some decent sleep. It’ll be about the _only_ decent thing to be had out here.”

His older brother then proceeds to demonstrate a remarkable amount of stubbornness and _forces_ himself to sleep. Sam’s actually impressed, but there’s no way in hell that he’ll ever say so. He pulls out the laptop and is pleasantly surprised when the wifi signal is strong and steady. In fact, he _almost_ wakes Dean up to defend Montana on this merit alone, but he’s ninety percent certain that Dean _will_ kill him for that. Besides, then he’ll have to listen to _more_ reasons why Montana sucks, and he’s pretty sure that Dean will _never_ drop it if that happens.

He cracks down to it, and quickly finds that there’s _very little_ about this particular creature to be found online, aside from some shady looking blogs about “cryptoids” and a mockumentary-type movie that some YouTuber made for fun. The more specific wording he uses, the more strange crap he finds. But he sticks with it, because he’s not actually certain that Agency _has_ a library…or if there are any books on this sort of thing; native mythology rarely makes it into books as anything more than brief references.

Eventually, he comes across a few articles from other small towns in the area talking about missing cattle and possible sightings, as well as a page from a website dedicated to preserving native languages, but there’s nothing really conclusive about how to actually kill the damn thing. Sighing, Sam gets up and puts the computer away—they’ll just have to go with their usual fallback: silver bullets and plenty of buckshot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Shoshone translations courtesy of https://shoshoniproject.utah.edu/ dictionary.  
> daiboo: white person; English man. Connotation can also mean "untrustworthy or shifty white man".  
> paadiha: elk  
> dogu: maternal grandfather; title of respect.  
> haganivina: naturally; of course  
> kaihinadogwaindingande: a phrase that basically means "I don't believe this/you/it"; an expression of unbelief.  
> (I only know a little Shoshone, so if anyone spots grammatical errors, please tell me!)
> 
> If you're ever looking for some entertainment, you should totally go to YouTube and look the Shunka Warak'in up. Native Languages of America (http://www.native-languages.org/morelegends/shunka-warekin.htm) is an organization dedicated to preserving endangered native languages and legends. They're awesome.


	2. Midnight Hikers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last thing that Dean expected to see in the Montana wilderness after ten is other hunters. And a kid. The kid was definitely unexpected.

Dean is a little—no, _a lot_ —pissed off that when Sam said “plan”, he really just meant “theory”. But he can’t think of anything better, so, eight minutes later, he’s in the car listening to Sam bitch about the lack of information he’s found. It’s a long drive (because it’s _Montana_ ) to the area where a majority of the missing people were last seen, and by the time he pulls over on the shoulder of the road, he’s added about five more complaints to his list of grievances against the state.

“Okay, so our plan is to pump this thing full of iron bullets and salt rounds?”

Sam nods, loading one of the shotguns. “That’s about it. I was thinking silver though, just in case, and by all accounts, it’s not a spirit, so buckshot should work on it.”

“Great.” Dean grumbles, checking his own weapons. “Can’t get much vaguer than that.”

There’s another vehicle, an older truck that’s parked nearby. Dean frowns at it, a little suspicious—who’d be dumb enough to go out hiking when there was something running around in these woods? But then again, those boys had done the same thing, so common sense just seems to be missing from this state.

“What’s up with that?” He nods over at the truck. “Late night hikers?”

Sam shrugs. “I guess. Don’t know why they’d be that stupid though.”

Dean grunts in agreement, and the two start out into the woods. The trees are massive, huge trees, small skinny ones in big clumps—“Aspens” according to Sam—and a whole lot of evil bushes and shifting loam. Thankfully, the Shunka Warak’in isn’t stealthy, and they have no trouble tracking the creature. The two hunters move silently once they’ve gotten used to the underbrush. As they get further into the heart of the forest, the trial becomes harder to follow, especially in the dark. Every sense is on high alert, so the subtle sound of something moving through the underbrush about fifty feet away might as well be a fire alarm going off.

Both men freeze, trying to determine what might be making the sound. At first, there’s nothing, and Dean almost starts to think that he might have just heard something like a branch falling. And then he sees motion, a flash of something, and he shifts for a better view.

Of all the things he was expecting—a rabbit, a raccoon, maybe even the monster itself—the one thing he never would have guessed would be a fucking _kid._ A small, skinny kid who’s definitely _not_ out for a midnight hike: too young, no equipment to suggest that he’s supposed to be out here at all. He doesn’t seem to have any idea where he’s going and he’s just sort of wandering around, looking a bit lost and chewing on the cuff of one of his sleeves. The boy’s definitely on the alert though, whipping his head around at the slightest sound.

“ _What the_ fuck,” Dean hisses, frowning. Sam shrugs in response, clearly just as confused.

Another sound in the dark, and both brothers tense. Dean half-expects to see another kid at this point, but none emerge from the dense underbrush. The boy’s frozen too, as still as a startled rabbit before it bolts. The rustling suddenly picks up, the clear sounds of snapping branches and something breathing now incredibly loud in the silent forest. Both hunters automatically bring the weapons up, ready to fire.

The monster comes bursting out of the brush, moving with an unbelievable speed. The kid lets out a startled yelp and takes off, rushing back the way he came…only to trip and fall hard. Dean realizes almost instantly that there’s no way that the boy will be able to outrun the predator, and dives from behind his cover to shoot at the creature. And then he sees that Sam’s taken off running, snatching the kid up, turning so that he’s shielding the boy as the creature leaps (it’s a stupid sort of thing that Dean normally does, _not_ Sam). There’s no time for thinking, and Dean fires off three rounds in quick succession.

The impact sends the thing flying sideways, its front legs just clipping Sam’s shoulders. Dean’s already in motion before creature can reach the ground, yanking out a .22 gauge rifle and firing a silver bullet dead into the thing’s chest. But the Shunka Warak’in merely seems to shake it off, and Dean would be impressed, but the fact that now all three of them are in range of its next lunge definitely dampens the spirit. Before either hunter can react though—a volley of shots ring out, bullets slamming into the thing with a great deal of force. Dean whips his head around to look at Sam, who’s just standing there, still holding the kid, looking just as confused.

“Hey!”

Dean spins around, gun out and ready, to see a man come crashing out of the brush.

“What the fuck, man,” the guy shouts, waving a gun of his own in the air expressively. “What the actual fuck? You just fucking _ruined_ our hunt!”

There’s another man, older looking, striding up behind this guy, and Dean lowers his gun ever so slightly in a gesture of peace. The new guy looks much calmer, clapping a hand on his companion’s shoulder and murmuring something to the angry man.

“You make sure that thing’s good and dead,” The man asks, turning to face Dean. “Killing these bastards is a real _bitch,_ man.”

Dean turns back around, suddenly concerned. Sam’s kneeling by the carcass, and he nods in confirmation—it’s definitely dead. Letting out a slow breath, the older Winchester turns back to the newcomers.

“It’s dead. Who the fuck are you two?”

“We could ask you the same question,” The first man snarls. Dean suddenly has this urge to punch him in the face.

“Walsh. Jared Walsh,” the friendlier man says. “Grouch over here is Kevin Weld. We’ve been hunting this thing all week.”

Dean nods in acknowledgment. “Well, I appreciate the save.”

“No problem.” Walsh shrugs, holstering his pistol. “You two good?”

Frowning, Dean looks back at his brother, who shrugs a little.

“Shoulder’s a little scratched up. I’ll be fine.” He looks at the kid with some concern. “You good?”

The kid shrugs, eyes darting from one hunter to the next. He seems much more concerned with being surrounded by fully-capable hunters than he had about the monster that nearly killed him.

“We’re all fine,” Dean reports, turning back to the men.

The older man nods and looks genuinely relieved to hear this, while the other just grunts and then snaps harshly, “Get your ass over here!”

Both Winchesters frown in confusion, not sure _who_ he’s yelling at, and then the kid is squirming out of Sam’s grip and heading up the steep incline. His footing keeps sliding in the shifting foliage and dirt, and at one point he does nearly fall, barely regaining his balance. Slowly, he adjusts his feet to get traction, turning slightly. From this angle, Dean can easily make out the dark, muddy stains on the boy’s knees from his fall—the spots are slowly growing, which means they’re not just muck from the ground. The kid limps slightly as he reaches the top, coming to a stop about three feet from the irate hunter.

“Go get the gear packed up,” Weld orders, glaring and shoving the now-empty-shotgun into the child’s arms. “ _Now.”_

The boy takes off, moving a lot faster now as though anxious to put as much distance between himself and the hunters as he can. Weld watches suspiciously as the boy disappears into the dark, as though he’s half-expecting to be shot in the back. Walsh ignores the whole interaction entirely, walking casually over to inspect the dead monster.

“That was one gutsy move, pal,” he says, staring at Sam with an impressed expression on his face. “Didn’t happen to catch your names?”

“I’m Joe, that there’s my brother, Steven,” Dean interjects, regaining the man’s attention. There is something unsettling about these men, and he’s suprisingly leery of telling them anything.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meetcha both.” Walsh sounds incredibly enthusiastic. “Ya’ll stickin’ around to finish the job?”

Sam frowns. “Um…it’s dead.”

“Yes it is. But these things actually travel in goddamn packs. We found that out the hard way our first night here; took the first one out, and then ‘nother one comes runnin’ from out of nowhere! Nearly. This group’s about eight or nine strong—well, I guess it’s more like five or six now that we’ve taken out this’n and the one earlier. ‘S easier with more eyes…”

“You guys want some help with the rest?” Dean asks, catching the man’s meaning. “We’re in the neighborhood, after all.”

Walsh nod amicably. “Hey, the more hunter, the better chance of not dying, right? Come on, let’s all head back up to this ‘town’. You can get a look at our intel an’ vice-versa, and we all could use a drink, I’m sure.”

He heads up the hill, gesturing for them to follow. Weld glances at the brothers suspiciously for a moment and then stalks after his companion. The Winchesters exchange a glance and wait for a few moments, until they’re out of hearing distance.

“Stay frosty.” Dean mutters, eyeing the men. “Somethin’s not right here.”

Sam snorts softly. “No shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I DON'T HATE MONTANA. Montana is gorgeous. I have had the privilege of driving through both Wyoming and Montana, and I stand with Dean's descriptions. Trust me. It's accurate.  
> Also, .22 gauges aren't gonna do shit against an animal that size, so don't try it. However, it's a nice sized weapon and perfect against humans. Just so you all know.  
> The Shunka Warak'in is a Northern Plains Indian legend that's real big with the tribes out in Montana, Iowa, Illinois, and Nebraska. It's a hell of a lot less terrifying than most of the stories, trust me--i got to hear a lot of them as a kid, and that'll screw you up for life. Interesting fact: The Shunka Warak'in is one of the only cryptids in North America to be confirmed. Google it if you don't believe me!


	3. New Acquaintances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's opinion of Montana is definitely NOT being improved. At least the monster's dead!

There’s something about these hunters that just rubs Sam the wrong way. He can’t put a finger on it, but they make him uneasy. Dean seems on edge too, but he’s normally like that with other hunters.

Sam recognizes the one man—Weld, from the motel earlier. His first impression was that the man was a major ass…which only seems to be growing stronger on the walk back to the road. Walsh keeps up a steady stream of conversation, but Weld just scowls, shooting suspicious looks back at the brothers.

“Well, we _were_ using a pretty nifty method to track the things.”

Sam tunes back in to the conversation—it’s apparently turned to hunting methods.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” Dean asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“That is definitely a beer conversation.” Walsh replies, looking sheepish. “Trust me.”

Sam mutters “yeah, right” under his breath. He hears Dean scoff softly, and it’s not hard to picture the look on his brother’s face. It’s also pretty easy to guess what Dean’s about to do—he’s pissed in general, so now he’s going to antagonize the guy.

“Your kid really scared the crap out of me.” Dean says pleasantly. “What the fuck’s he doing out here without a weapon anyway? Little young for hunting, ain’t he?”

Walsh shrugs and doesn’t answer. But Weld does.

“Ain’t my kid,” The man says fiercely. “‘nd he knows his job, even if the little son of a bitch don’t act like it.”

“And what is that, exactly?” Dean has a very sweet tone going, one that Sam knows means trouble. “His job?”

Before the discussion can go any further downhill, the road comes into view. The kid in question is perched on the tailgate of the truck, legs swinging back and forth in the air. As soon as he sees the men approaching, he hops off, moving to stand next to the vehicle.

Weld mutters something darkly and speeds up, reaching the truck far before the others. From the distance, neither Winchester can tell what’s being said, but the man looks thoroughly irritated, while the boy looks thoroughly unhappy.

Walsh sighs, calling out to his companion, “Hey, check and see if the gear’s packed right!”

The other hunter waves a hand and goes to check the bed. Walsh shakes his head.

“He’s a shitty partner sometimes, but the guy’s one helluva tracker,” The man says, pulling out his keys. “Anyway, you two up for a drink? God knows I am. Get loaded up and let’s get a move on, okay?” This last bit is directed towards his friend.

Sam intentionally bumps into his brother, leaning in to whisper “Well, I guess shitty beer needs shitty company, huh?”

His older brother snorts irritably, striding across the pavement to get in the car. Sam shakes his head and moves to follow. He notes that the cab of the truck clearly doesn’t have enough space for three people, and sees the kid clambering into the bed, very obviously having a little trouble with the height and his shredded knees.

“Hey, we’ve got room in the car,” Sam offers to the friendlier hunter. “Could give the kid a lift, if you want.”

Walsh nods in acknowledgment, tugging his door open. He turns and has a quick conversation, which Sam feels is more of a stalling tactic than anything, before turning back and giving both the kid and Sam a quick nod.

Sam shrugs, already just how much grief he’s about to get, opens the rear door, and then opens his own and climbs in.

“So…I may have just offered to give the kid a ride.” He says, not looking at his brother.

Dean surprisingly doesn’t bitch about it. “He bleeds on the seat, you’re cleaning it.”

Before the younger man can answer, the boy slides into the backseat, shutting the door very carefully behind him. He looks about as thrilled as the brothers feel.

“Put your seatbelt on.” Dean orders, shooting Sam a look—if nothing else, he’s not passing this opportunity to gain some info on their new “friends”.

The kid nods, though it takes him several agonizing seconds to get buckled in—his hands are shaking, and the belts are stubborn old things that almost never get used. By the time he’s done, Dean’s wondering how the hell parents manage to sit through that every time they take the kids out. He takes a deep breath, then pulls the Impala out, driving a little slower than necessary.

“There’s a first aid kit under that jacket.” He says, shooting a glance back at the kid. “I don’t need your blood all over the seat.”

Judging by the sounds, his orders are being carried out as quickly as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see the expression on his brother’s face—Sam’s clearly in another world right now. He’s a little concerned about that—the last thing anyone needs right now is a psychic episode, but Sam looks more like he’s just distracted and not like he’s about to go full-on Maddy Bowen or something. So he leaves it.

“You got a name, kid?” Dean’s really not interested in having to say “kid” for the rest of the drive.

“Levi.” And then, in a slightly louder voice, “Sir.”

Dean _really_ hates being called “sir”, but he’d probably do the same thing if he was a little kid stuck in a car with two strange men. Of course, he’d probably have cursed up a storm too, but still.

“Okay, can we drop the ‘sir’ shit though? It’s—“ Dean remembers just in time that he’d given the other hunters fake names. “Um…it’s—“

“He’s Dean. I’m Sam.” Sam says helpfully, pulling himself out of reach of Dean’s punch. “Dude, stop it.”

“That’s not what I told _them,_ Sam.” Dean hisses. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“I _know,_ ” Sam looks annoyed. “You’re not going to tell them, are you, Levi?”

“Uh-uh.”

Dean glances back—the boy has pressed himself as far back against the seat as he can get. He looks like he’s going to hurl. The hunter grimaces at that thought—blood and guts he can deal with, but vomit has always been something that grosses him out.

“Please don’t hurl in my car.”

Levi shakes his head a little frantically. “I won’t, honest. S-sorry.”

“It’s cool. Just…give me a heads-up, and I can pull over, got it?” Dean notes that Sam’s looking pretty pale too. “Both of you.”

Sam nods tightly. Sighing, Dean turns his attention back to the road. After a beat, he decides to resume the painfully slow interrogation.

“So…How old are you, man?”

“Um…uh, t-ten?” Levi doesn’t seem too sure on that.

“Huh, that’s…that’s cool. You, ah, been on hunts before?”

“Yessir.”

Dean frowns, trying to reign in the growing sense of frustration. “Okay. So, uh…they, um, Wash and, ah, Weld, they’re family?”

“Nossir.”

Levi’s response was so long in coming that Dean had almost thought the kid didn’t hear him.

“…Okay…” He’s really not sure how to take the response. “Well, then how—Sam, _do not_ hurl in my car!”

Cursing violently, Dean swerves the car over, slamming the brakes. As soon as the car stops, Sam’s door is open and he’s falling out onto the ground, groaning. There’s blood dripping from his nose, and his large frame is shaking uncontrollably.

“Sammy!” Dean scrambles to get out of his seat. “Fuck.” He turns and points at the kid. “You stay there!”

Without waiting to see if Levi responds, he rushes around the car to his brother. As he rounds the car, Dean can already tell that Sam’s having either a vision or a full-on seizure. Since epilepsy probably doesn’t run in the family, it’s probably the former, which means that there’s little to be done besides making sure Sam doesn’t hurt himself somehow.

Sighing, Dean pulls his younger brother away from the car, muttering “Okay, Sasquatch. Heads-up woulda been nice.” He sits down, cradling Sam’s head—the last thing they need right now is concussion-by-ground. “This _sucks.”_

“What’s wrong with him?”

The hunter jumps, startled by the question. He looks back at the Impala, a little angry about being caught off guard—he’d sort of forgotten that the kid was still there.

“Nothing’s ‘ _wrong’_ with him. He’ll be fine in a minute.” Dean snaps.

Levi looks surprisingly unimpressed, still peering at the scene through the rolled down window. “I’m pretty sure that if he’s having a seizure, you’re not supposed to try and hold him down.”

“I’m _not—_ “ Dean decides not to argue with a ten year-old. “You’re _ten,_ what d’you know? Just…zip it. Okay? Shut your cake hole and stop leaning on the goddamn window!”

The kid shrugs and ducks back inside. Dean sighs, looking down at his brother—the tremors have stopped, but he’s still out cold.

“C’mon buddy. I kinda need you to get it together now. Those yahoos are gonna be freaking out if we don’t have their kid back at the motel in a few minutes.”

He doesn’t add, at least out loud, that it’s been a while since Sam had a vision, even longer since it took him out like this. Dean will never admit it, but he’s actually a little worried. He knows enough about this stuff to know that whatever his little brother is seeing, it’s powerful enough to knock him out and keep him that way.

Suddenly, Sam groans, forehead wrinkling as he comes to.

“’M okay.” He mumbles, rolling over, and pushing himself up, shaking a little. “Jus’…jus’ gimma a sec’nd.”

Dean frowns a little, but doesn’t try to stop him. “Sure, buddy. What was that?”

“Shitty vis’n.” Sam replies, sitting back on his heels. “Ugh, _fuck,_ man. M’ head _hurts.”_

“Yeah, that tends to happen when you faceplant it. So…what’d ya see? I mean, you haven’t been _this_ bad in forever.”

Sam moves to get up, taking his brother’s proffered hand. He sways a little, but waves off further assistance. Dean’s not entirely confident that he’s not going to fall again, but he doesn’t press it. Suddenly, his younger brother tenses, staring at the car…or rather, into it.

Before anyone can react, he lunges forward, hands scrambling to open the back door.

“ _You!_ ” The irate hunter almost snarls, still trying to get the door open. “Y-you…you _help_ them? H-help them _m-murder_ people!?!”

From this angle, Dean can see that Levi must have locked the door, which is probably a really good thing, because he’s pretty sure Sam’s trying to freaking _kill_ the kid. The situation is quickly spiraling now—Sam’s still shouting about something (Dean’s not sure what), and now the kid’s sort of scream-shouting “I didn’t do anything!” over and over. Thankfully, he’s been _trained_ to handle this sort of shit.

Grabbing a handful Sam’s jacket, he yanks the younger hunter off of the car, shouting “Knock it off!”

Sam keeps struggling, but he’s no longer shouting. The kid stopped screaming as soon as Sam was no longer attempting to climb through the window. Dean lets out a slow breath, still hanging onto his squirming brother.

“Thank you.” He nods in Levi’s general direction. “Sam, for the love of—just _stop it!”_

Surprisingly, Sam does at he’s told, slowly going limp.

“Okay. Now, here’s what’s gonna happen. Sam, you’re gonna get in the front seat, and you’re gonna try and take a fucking nap or something. You are _not_ going to so much as _look_ at the backseat, got it?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Levi, you’re gonna stay there, shut up, and do your best impression of a seat cushion. He’s not going to try anything, okay?”

Gingerly, Dean reaches over and opens the passenger door, easing Sam inside. A quick glance tells him that Levi’s about one shock away from a heart attack or something. The hunter sighs, shutting the door and nearly racing around to get in himself, just in case.

“Okay.” He says, squeezing the steering wheel in a death grip. “Everyone just relax. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” Silently, he begs whatever deity is controlling the Winchesters’ fate for a few minutes of grace—he just needs to get them back to Agency. That’s it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the dog's sick, I'm tired, dishes are piling up, and the paycheck's late. But hey! At least I've got my looks. And T.V. I've never been so thankful for hot guys killing monsters before in my life.  
> Oh, and Maddy Bowen is the little kid in Poltergeist. The whole Linda Blair comparison is over-rated and over-used.


	4. Still in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to get answers, another person dies, and Weld is basically just permanently an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive!!!

By the time they start to pull up to the motel, everything has calmed down. Sam’s half-asleep, though still twitchy, Levi hasn’t said a word, but he’s stopped hyperventilating, and Dean’s beginning to feel the sense of doom fading. And then he sees the two other hunters standing in the parking lot, waiting. His sense of relief dissipates instantly, though he’s still not sure why.

Levi sighs loudly, startling Dean a little. The kid looks dead tired, he notes sympathetically. He can relate to that.

He pulls the car to a stop, exhaling slowly. “Okay. We’re here. Sam, get out.”

As soon as he’s said this, Dean remembers that, yeah, he probably shouldn’t let Sam and Levi occupy the same space without supervision, so he scrambles out a lot faster than normal, giving a curt nod in the direction of Weld, who’s walking over, stormy expression on his face.

“What took you so long?” The surly hunter demands, glaring at each of them in turn. “Kid give you any trouble?”

“Had a little car trouble,” Dean replies airily, imaging slugging the man in the face. “Levi was great, seriously.”

“Good.” Weld glances irritably at the boy. “Git yourself inside, boy. Equipment needs cleaning.”

Levi darts off, moving as fast as possible with his injured legs. Weld shakes his head in annoyance, then strides off after the boy. Walsh, who’d wandered up during the conversation, sighs and watches them go.

“Well, glad to see ya’ll made it back in one piece. Sorry about Weld, he’s cranky today. So…how ‘bout that drink?”

Sam shakes his head and mutters something about needing some rest. He heads off towards their room, leaving the other two alone. Dean sighs and turns back to Walsh.

“Y’know, I really need a drink anyway.”  

They cross the road, discussing nothing of value, both carefully avoiding the massive elephant in the room. This stilted small-talk continues until Walsh is about four beers in. Dean is smart enough to just nurse his first the entire time—no way he’s taking _any_ chances with either of these hunters.

“So…the kid?” Dean’s pretty sure the guy is drunk enough for him to skip the subtly and all that bullshit.

“Right,” Walsh sighs, looking into his mug like he wishes it were still full. “So, first off, I just gotta say that I don’t know ‘im that well. Weld, I mean. I met him…oh, four or five months ago? I was working on this haunting, nothin’ special. But we got to talkin’ over a beer ‘n he mentioned that he knew a way to make it easier, ‘n not jus’ _that_ one spirit, but all of ‘em. Said he’d help out, if I wanted.”

He trails off, looking at the fuzzy TV screen above the bar like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. After a moment, Dean clears his throat.

“So you took the offer, right?”

After a second, Walsh continues. “Yeah. Anyways, he shows up at that house the next day with this…with the kid. Doesn’t explain anythin’, jus’ marches them both right past and into the house, tellin’ me t’ follow ‘n just watch. Well, at first there’s nothin’ innerestin’ about it—we go through the motions, salt the doors ‘n that shit. ‘S a real nasty spirit, so we get a circle drawn up as a precaution ‘n head in further—we’re lookin’ for this chest that had its clothes in it, y’know, that whole drill. Th’ whole time, he jus’ kinda shoves the kid along, doesn’t explain.” He pauses to swig down the rest of his drink and signals for another. “I think I asked at some point. I dunno. But then shit started flying around and there wasn’t any time to explain. We were so distracted, prolly b’cuz I kept askin’ questions. Next thing I knew, it’d sent us all flying back down the stairs we’d just climbed.”

Dean frowns. “The kid, Walsh. That’s what we’re talkin’ about here.”

“Yeah, sure. ‘M getting’ there. Well, me ‘n Weld, we’re both at the bottom of the stairs. But the kid…the kid is jus’ standin’ there, at the top of th’ stairs, staring at the damn thing. ‘Nd I’m jus’ waitin’ for it to smack ‘im across the room or somethin’. But it jus’ stares back. Weld drags me up and heads back to th’ stairs, shoutin’ about how I need to stay close and shut up. We get to the top and he jus’ sorta grabs th’ kid n’ starts draggin’ ‘im along, down the hall, into the rooms, til we’ve found it. Tells me to light th’ fucker up.”

“So…what’d he have t’ do with it?”

“Weld says th’ kid’s like some kinda…suppressor or somethin’. Anythin’ supernatural jus’ stops like we ain’t there. It don’t work on some shit—shifters, for instance. But put ‘im in front of a ghost, or a wendigo, or even a demon, and they calm the fuck down. Only works when he’s real close to ‘em. ‘S not a science or anythin’, it don’t always work. But yeah, tha’s ‘bout it.”

“So he’s some kind of magic charm you guys shove at the monsters and hope it’ll stop ‘em,” Dean says flatly. “ _How_ does it work, exactly? Kids don’t just _do_ that sort of shit. So why does he?”

The older man shrugs. “Dunno. He jus’ does. ‘S not my problem, long as it works. ‘Sides, after this job, I’m splittin’. Think I’ll head out west, somewhere warm.”

With that, he starts on the new beer, obviously done talking. Biting back a frustrated groan, Dean turns to his own drink, because there’s no way to get more information without getting rough. He’ll have to try something else. But before he can come up with something beyond “take him out back and bash his face in until he talks”, Walsh’s phone goes off.

He’s drunk enough to fumble with it but manages to answer after a moment. “What? Well, how do you—yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” He slams the phone down on the counter and chugs the rest of his beer before turning to Dean.

“There’s been an attack. The others are already heading over to check it out.”

\---

Dean insists on driving (not that Walsh could drive anyway, since his partner apparently took the truck), and because he’s wound up and there’s no reason not to anyway, they make it out of town to the tiny ranch where the other two hunters are already waiting. Both men are standing in the field, looking down at something in the long grass. The kid is nowhere in sight, which is kind of a good thing, Dean thinks, because he’s not sure what the deal is with Sam, but the last thing they need is another episode or Sam blurting out any more information.

It’s obvious that Weld’s attitude hasn’t improved much and Sam looks like he’s about at the end of his rope. He gives Dean a Look, basically confirming that he’s going to punch the guy in the face in the next five seconds if someone doesn’t intervene. Personally, Dean isn’t sure if that’s really a bad idea.

“Wha’s up,” Walsh asks, moving to look at whatever is on the ground. “Oh, fuck.”

There’s a dead man on the ground, body horrifically mangled. What’s left of a rifle is nearby.

“They heard the cattle acting upset and he came out with the family dog to check on them. Looks like he didn’t have time to fire or anything,” Sam explains. He nods towards the trailer nearby. “The family already called the cops, but it’s gonna be at least forty minutes before anyone shows up. Told ‘em we were park rangers—we’re studying elk migration patterns by the way—and that we’d take a look around, see if we can find the missing cattle and the dog.”

Weld grunts and pulls out a flashlight, turning it on and illuminating a sort of game trail in the grass. “Odds are that the cows’ll come back eventually. Most of ‘em anyways. Dog’s probably dead though. Looks like the creatures went back into the forest again.”

“Is there a chance that they’ll come back?” Dean asks, remembering that the two had been here for a few days before he and Sam showed up.

“Not likely.” Walsh shakes his head and shines a light of his own out at the horizon, scanning for any reflected light from animal eyes. “They don’t usually hit the same places twice, ‘specially if they fed.”

“So we wait then,” Dean decides, “Take care of it when it’s light out. Steve ‘n me’ll hang out here ‘til the cops show, if you guys wanna head back into town.”

The hunters nod in agreement and part ways, taking the lights with them. In the sudden dark, everything is a lot more eerie and the silence is suffocating.

“I vote we wait by the car,” Sam says suddenly. “’S not like we can do much for him.”

He starts back for the car, Dean hot on his heels. Both brothers are fully alert the entire time, suddenly cognitive of how exposed the field is. Despite the fact that they’ve been hunting for years now, there’s a sort of instinctual fear that comes with being in the dark, surrounded by unseen predators in an unknown place.

Dean decides to turn the Impala on for the headlights, which definitely helps put them both at ease. After a few seconds, Sam sighs.

“Did you learn anything about them? And how many drinks did that guy have? He was totally hammered!”

“Like seven or more,” Dean replies, still scanning the darkness. “All I know is that Walsh is definitely in over his head there. Says he’s been hanging with that jackass for a few months, has no idea what’s up with the kid or anything like that; not that he’s bothered trying to find out. ‘M not sure if he’s tellin’ the whole truth either though.”

“Great. So the only people who could tell us anything are Weld, who’s a total asshole, and the actual kid.” The younger man hesitates for a second before continuing. “I don’t know what’s going on either, but, um…that kid…”

“Walsh claims he’s got some kind of ‘magic ability’, makes supernatural shit chill the fuck out or something. Said it only works on spirits and shit, which is probably why they had him out there anyway—assuming he’s not crazy, they musta thought the kid would stop those things.”

“So…it works with demons too, huh?”

Dean frowns. “I know where this is going and—”

“I couldn’t _stop_ Dean. When he asked questions, I literally could not keep my mouth shut. Like, even though I _knew_ what I was supposed to say, I couldn’t stop myself,” Sam sort of snaps. “It was like I was being…I dunno, _compelled,_ maybe, to tell the truth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’. I mean, yeah, it could be a total coincidence or something, but I doubt it. And then, what I saw…I-I don’t know _what_ that kid is, but…”

“What _did_ you see?” Dean asks, although he almost doesn’t want to know.

“There were bodies, like ten of them. All different people and places, but I could see them all at once, kinda. And someone screaming, begging for someone to stop; I don’t know who or what it was but I could hear it. Then that stopped, and there’s just like flashes of things—lots of blood, a gun going off, shit like that. And the kid’s just standing there, watching everything like it’s some kind of show.” He stops and takes a few slow breaths. “I don’t know. I didn’t recognize anyone else, I couldn’t tell you _where_ any of this stuff was happening, but it’s real, you know? And that’s the other weird thing, because I don’t see the past, Dean. Not like that. And everything I just saw, it was almost all things that already happened.”

Feeling his stomach clench a little with a mix of anger (because there’s absolutely nothing he can do to help his brother with this) and concern (because no matter _what_ all this means, it’s nothing good), Dean asks, “What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update! It's a shorter chapter and a bit heavy on the exposition, but hey, after months of waiting, it's still better than nothing. Sorry it's taking forever, guys. I'm moving as soon as finals end, and everything in life is just...LIFE. But I know how this should end, so now I just gotta get it written out. Thanks for sticking with me!

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first (and possibly only) Supernatural fanfic. Part of this is due to the fact that I refuse, for the most part, to acknowledge anything that happens after "Swan Song", with the exception of individual episodes. The rest is due to the fact that it's not a fandom I'm as comfortable with.  
> Anyway, I had to make a lot of OCs, because, if you haven't noticed, there's not a lot of repeat characters in SPN. Go figure.   
> Let me know what you guys think! As I said, it's not my big fandom, so I'm not sure if everyone's in character.


End file.
